Mummy's Little Secret
by ToastandOut
Summary: Dear Diary, It's hard to believe that once, I had hated Harry's father more than words can describe. Although, now that I mention it, I'm panicking more and more about whom Harry's real father is. Left in the attic of Number 4, Privet Drive, Harry Potter stumbles across his mum's diary and is burdened with the consequences...
1. Chapter 1

Harry Potter prided himself on being an excellent source of entertainment for all the dreadful summers he had to spend at the Dursleys.

He wasn't sure who hated the other more- him or his aunt, uncle, and cousin. They were all quite horrid to each other- the Dursleys, which consisted of bony Aunt Petunia, the idiot which was his Uncle Vernon, and his piggy cousin, Dudley, had always ignored his existence when possible, and Harry tried hard not to throw another snarky comment near them, or he was fairly sure that he'd be back in his cupboard once more.

He didn't know why the Dursleys despised him as they did- he wasn't a troublemaker as they made him out to be, he just lost his temper easily. His rumpled, untidy black hair was a constant source of annoyance for both Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, and his startlingly green eyes and the oddly-shaped scar on his forehead didn't match his plain, if rumpled, appearance, which consisted of a slight body, pale skin and large, round glasses.

His school, however, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, thought him to be the greatest thing since Bertie Botts' Every Flavour Beans. The lightning-shaped scar on his forehead was in fact, a little reminder of his encounter with the frightening Dark wizard, Lord Voldemort, whom had been the source of his parents' deaths as well as countless of others.

He had to admit he brooded on the fact a lot, ever since he found out that his parents' mutual friend, Peter Pettigrew, had betrayed them for Lord Voldemort, he was thinking quite a bit about his mum and dad. In his mind, his dad was a nice-looking, if messy, wizard, with the same untidy black hair and pale complexion Harry had. His mother would probably be a bit lighter, with flowing red hair and green eyes. Maybe a dimple in her chin, or prominent cheekbones defining her features.

His only picture of them had been very vague, but they seemed to be extremely nice-looking, nothing at all like Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, whom were much too bony or piggy for his taste. On days like this, when he was thinking about his parents and gazing out the rain-streaked window, he thought it best that he wasn't disturbed. Unfortunately, it was just his luck Aunt Petunia ordered him to go clean the attic.

"And don't even think about coming down for dinner until you're done, boy," she warned. Harry, scowling a bit, nodded at her and brought up a broom and a dust pan, as well as some cleaning rags up into the cold, eerie attic. Unlike the rest of the house, it was filled with dust and all sorts of odd things- packing boxes filled with moldy bread and toys that should've been used by Dudley by now, dead birds littering the ground, a creepy whistling floating into the cracks of the roof just a couple inches above. Harry had hurt his head more than once while cleaning the attic, but it was worth risking a concussion just to discover all the bizarre stuff in there.

Instead of cleaning at once, Harry dropped his cleaning supplies down on the creaky floorboards and took a peek in each box- which was quite a bit, mind you. He found a nest of mice, a weathered old daisy chain, and a few teddy bears that were leaking stuffing and fur. He tucked one of the teddy bears under his arm, his face reddening considerably as he imagined the reactions of his two best friends, Ron and Hermione, if they saw him carrying a used teddy bear like a little kid.

As Harry approached the last box, a tingling flew up and down his arms. He was excited to discover the contents of the cardboard box, sure, but as he opened it up, he was filled with an odd mixture of both dread and excitement to see a faded, red, leather-bound notebook tucked snugly inside the packing peanuts.

He set down his teddy bear- whom was to be named Alfred-, and opened the notebook with shaky hands. His heart practically burst out of his chest as he read the first entry.

_Dear Diary,_

_Hello. Is this how you start a diary? I wouldn't know, I've never had a diary before. I'm Lily Evans. I'm thirteen-years-old. I'm a third-year at Hogwarts, School of Wizardry and Witchcraft. Oh, yeah, I forgot to mention: I'm a witch._

_I'm not an old hag who likes to curse little kids, though. Most of us are very nice- except for the Pure-Bloods, those incest morons. They think they're so better than us Muggle-Borns- Muggle-borns are born to a Muggle, or nonmagic, family-, just because their parents had married their cousins for generations simply to avoid contact with Muggles._

_There are exceptions, like Remus Lupin, a third-year like me, who's very nice but is constantly hanging around those idiots James Potter and Sirius Black- _Harry felt his heartbeat pick up at the mention of his father and godfather-_, and Peter Pettigrew. Peter's OK, I guess, but he always trails around James like a sick puppy. It's actually quite repulsing, come to think of it._

_That jerk Potter is always slacking off in all of our classes, we're learning really interesting stuff, too, and he just thinks that the whole world revolves around Butterbeer, girls- and himself, of course! _

Harry found himself becoming extremely amused by his mother's rants, but his amusement died quickly enough when he heard his uncle's thundering footsteps reaching the attic. He quickly dunked Alfred and his mother's diary into a box nearby as his uncle's ugly, chubby face peeked up against the floorboards.

"BOY!" He roared, looking around. "Didn't your aunt tell you to clean up this filth? Go to work, or NO DINNER FOR A WEEK!"

Not even arguing that a person couldn't live so long without food, Harry grudgingly picked up his broom and dusting pan, and threw a longing look in the direction of his mother's diary.

…**.**

Over the next couple of months, Harry found himself reading his mother's diary very frequently. She was like a clever-yet-witty mixture of Ron and Hermione, and Harry found himself agreeing with almost everything she had to say.

Much like Draco, Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange was a constant source of irritation and taunts. Unlike Harry, though, Lily kept it in stride, although she had more than once admitted to wanting to rip their "stupid, arrogant heads off their stupid, arrogant bodies". It was due to her diary that Harry now found his summer stays at the Dursleys tolerable.

One summer night had found Harry reading in his bedroom, under the covers with a bright wand in hand and the leather-bound diary in the other. He was getting alarmingly close to the end of her diary, but he tried not to panic as he read the last few entries. They had all gotten somewhat sad, even though Lily kept some of her wit.

_Dear Diary, _

_It's hard to believe I have crammed more than 20 years of my life in these pages. Yes, I did lose you for quite a bit of time, but I always managed to get you back. You were a true friend, and I'm sad to see that I have filled your yellow pages with as much as my life as it could take._

_Harry's growing up into a beautiful little boy! It's clear his hair is going to be as messy as James's, but to me, he's the most perfect baby boy in the world. It's hard to believe that once, I had hated his father more than words can describe. Although, now that I mention it, I'm panicking more and more about whom Harry's real father is._

Harry's wand dropped down to the floor.

_Oh, diary, I don't know what to think anymore. I hope that, should anyone read this diary (and I KNOW Petunia's going to, I'm giving you to her in my will), they will not be repulsed for what I've done. Last summer, a year ago, Severus sent me an owl, saying he wanted to meet up in the cemetery at Godric's Hollow at midnight._

_I didn't know what to think. First of all, that was beyond creepy- meeting in a cemetery, in the middle of the NIGHT, at that- but we couldn't very well meet up in the house; although James and I didn't know that our lives were at stake, he would freak out if he found that "slimy git" prowling around the house- and I swear, he literally never left the house, not even then._

_So, against my better judgment, I went._

_I went, and then I saw Severus leaning against a gravestone, and then I just ran up to him and kissed him. Oh, oh diary, WHY did I kiss him? Why did I let him think I didn't return my affections for James? If not… If not, maybe Harry would've never been born._

_We kissed and kissed until our lips were numb- _Harry was more than repulsed by this statement-_, diary, and I swear, I felt like floating. Afterwards, as I lay in his arms under the willow tree, I remembered James, and next thing I knew, my sick was all over the place._

_How could I be so unfaithful to James? I loved him- he never abandoned me, never called me Mudblood. I left him, diary, sleeping there under the tree, and I never saw him again. And then, a couple of days later, I found out I was pregnant._

_Of course, me and James were involved in… strenuous activity the day before, but- it takes a few days to get morning sickness, doesn't it? But how does that explain Harry's messy hair?_

_Truth be told, diary, he DOES look a bit like Severus- not so much that people would get suspicious, but he does look a little like him. He has his pale skin and cheekbones, although they're not very developed right now. I bet he'll be very handsome once he's older._

_Oh, I think I'm overthinking things. You know me, diary, I overthink things. But still- what if Harry IS Severus's son? Oh, I'm feeling faint._

_Dear God, diary, it's the last page and I'm confessing my deepest, darkest secret to you. Sounds a bit cliché, huh? But I don't care- it feels quite good to be able to tell somebody- or, rather, SOMETHING- this; it's been bothering me ever since Harry's birthday._

_I'll try to be the best mother I can be. I think I'm doing actually pretty well! You should see James; he ADORES Harry, even though he may not… he may not be…_

The writing was so shaky Harry could barely make out the last few words.

_Somebody, forgive me for this. James doesn't deserve me. Harry doesn't deserve me. They both need so much more, and yet they chose ME. And I can't help but feel that… when the time is right, I'll die for both of them._

_I always knew I was going to die young._

_Ever yours,_

_Lily Evans (nee Potter)_

Harry shut the last pages of the diary, feeling very faint. Something in his stomach churned; his head burned, his eyes sewn shut in pain. All his life, he'd been hearing nothing but praises regarding his mother and father. He never knew his mother was capable of this- how could she _do _this to James, to Harry? He felt an enraged roar tear out of his lips- he threw the diary across the room and it thudded against the wall.

For a moment, he fumed, listening to Dudley's snores grunt a little in his sleep. And then his anger turned to sadness, and he clutched his head as tears leaked out of his eyes.

_His father may not be his father…_

'**Ello, guys!  
Yes, I know this is made very often, but I couldn't help myself. It's going to be full of new surprises- ones I daresay you've never seen before. I do hope you enjoyed this first chapter. I hope I didn't make anyone too OOC. Please review if you enjoyed the chapter!**

**Yours,**

**The_Quirkster**


	2. Quick Author's Note

**Hi, guys!  
I'm sorry for not updating in so long. It's just that, summer's been on my mind constantly, and I've been juggling my schoolwork as well as personal matters for so long I fear that if I stop now, they will break. But I'm getting ahead of myself- I just want to apologize for the delay of a new chapter.**

**I'm absolutely ecstatic that you guys enjoy my work so much. I'll be sure to update this week or the next, so you won't have to wait much longer.**

**Thanks!  
Yours,**

**The_Quirkster**


	3. Chapter 3

"And I think that Percy just wants us to- Harry, what's wrong?"

Harry snapped his head up to look at the freckled, fourteen-year-old boy in front of him. His hair was a red mop, falling down in what would be very light blue eyes. The boy's name was Ron Weasley, and he was one of Harry's best friends.

They had been extremely close ever since they met in first year, both extremely small and excited at the prospect of going to Hogwarts, and Harry felt a cliché pang of nostalgia as he recalled their younger years. They had found the Sorcerer's Stone back in first year, had aided Harry in his attempt to find the Chamber of Secrets in second, and just last year, had helped Harry reveal the truth behind his godfather, Sirius Black.

His days at Hogwarts were filled with excitement, horror, and adventure- not in that order. Just then, Harry had been thinking about his so-called _father. _His luck would probably find him staring at Snape's sneering face, as he uttered the words, "You are no son of mine…"

"Harry- Harry, are you feeling alright?" said Hermione Granger, Harry's other best friend. She was a pretty girl, he supposed, even with her bushy brown hair, and he knew that Ron fancied her- he had been tempted to grab a knife from the Hogwarts' kitchen to cut the sexual tension between the two ever since third year. "You look a bit pale- is your scar hurting again?"

She anxiously peered into his face, her brown eyes filled with worry, like that of a mother's. He just shrugged and turned away, glancing out the snowy window with uninterested eyes. He knew he should've told his friends, but he just couldn't bring himself to do it. He was certain that Ron would instantly throw him out of the compartment, yelling curses about being a slimy git's son, and Hermione would just give him a dumbfounded look.

"I'm fine, Hermione, stop staring at me!" He yelled. She flinched, as though he had hit her. He sighed and rested his forehead against the cool glass of the window, a strong barrier amongst the snow pattering at it impatiently.

"I'm sorry." He whispered. His breath made fog against the window, and he traced a little smiley face with one pale, trembling finger. "It's just… I discovered something over the summer. I-"

But then the compartment door slid open, and in came Ginny Weasley, Ron's little (and only) sister. Ginny blushed beet red at the sight of Harry and took a seat next to her brother, avoiding her brown eyes in fear they would find Harry's green ones. Harry only glanced at her indifferently and looked back out the window.

The rest of the ride was uneventful; mostly Ron chattered on about the delicious feast that was in a moments' time going to be warm in their stomachs, which ached from all the candy Harry had bought them. Harry tuned him out, until he finally realized Hermione was talking about the Death Eaters that had disturbed the World Cup just a few weeks ago.

"It's really quite horrible, isn't it? Poor Winky; I heard she didn't even get a fair trial! And it was all because of that filthy, no-good Crouch…" Hermione was muttering angrily. Ron threw her a dark look.

"Don't let Percy hear you say that," He warned in a low voice. "He acts like a lovesick puppy around Crouch, it's positively sick…"

Soon, it was time for them to don their school robes and exit the train, wind and rain beating against their faces. Harry shuddered and tugged at his school robes, grateful that he was not one of the many first years crossing the boats with Hagrid, the kind-hearted Gatekeeper that Harry had come to know and love over the many years he had spent at Hogwarts.

They rode in the carriages, pulled by the frightening winged creatures, grandly called Threstrals, that only Harry seemed to be able to see. They had chattered eagerly about whom was to be the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Harry promising that no matter what, nobody could take Remus Lupin's place as the greatest D.A.D.A. professor Hogwarts has ever seen- or would ever see again, for that matter.

They took their seats at the Gryffindor Table, laughing and talking amongst the chatter. The new D.A.D.A. teacher, whoever he was, was missing at the teacher's table. Harry flicked his eyes a little to the right, and instantly they met Professor Snape's oily black ones.

_Crap, _Harry thought miserably as he tried to look away (without success), _crapcrapcrapcrap! _Why did his mum love Professor Snape, of all people? Why on earth would she be attracted by that hooked nose, those cruel black eyes, that sallow pale skin? Why would she adore the way the grass stopped growing after he walked outside (Harry only _wished _he was kidding), or the way he would drawl out his words like a poor imitation of an Southern drawl?

But most of all- why, oh why, would his mother think that Harry might be a result of their lovemaking? Why would she think that the worst man alive was Harry's father? And why- oh, dear _God _why- was he staring at Harry like he knew his secret?

**Sorry for the delay of a new chapter, guys! And sorry it's so short, but I'll write up another chapter as soon as I can, alright? **

**Yours, **

**The_Quirkster**


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